Facts
by TheGodmother2
Summary: Walt and Vic move forward with their lives. Third in what has now become a trilogy (Confessions, Truths). By reader(s) request.
1. Chapter 1

**_Facts,_** is the third installment of ( ** _Confessions, Truths_** ) it came about from a few reader requests. The story picks up about 4-5 years after the end of Truths.

I'm maintaining the fort while the rest of you party at Longmire Days! Seriously, have fun for all of us that couldn't go! We're there in spirit. XD

* * *

Only on television do partners split up. That's something I learned in the academy and it's something we live by as both partners and well, you know, partners. It's a statement of fact.

The other fact is that a marriage, no matter how much you want it, is hard. I'm obsessive, that's his new word of the day, and while I may have called him an asshole for saying it I know he has a valid point. I obsess on the good and the bad and lately there seems to be nothing but bad with us and I hate it.

We fight and I storm out of the cabin and into my truck, Ray-bans down on my eyes, mouth loaded for another sharp retort as I start the engine. He stands in the doorway, with one hand on his hip, the other hanging onto the doorframe. He's judging me. He's such an asshole I say to myself. My hand sits on the shifter but I don't move, relaxing my foot from the brake, I storm out of the truck and back to the porch to meet him head on in the doorway.

His hands meet at his chest, arms fold, and he's ready for battle. He doesn't move. We square off in our very domesticated threshold and I step-up into his defined personal space where my lips meet his. A simple kiss on his tight lips signifies another kept promise.

A rule to never fight before we start a shift because it's a fact that one of us may not make it back, back to each other, back to the fights, back to the love that fills our home.

I step back, push my Aviators up on my forehead, and I look at him. His jaw is set, his eyes are dark and he's not letting me in. This is how we do it and it's frustrating and fucked up. Deciding to wait that extra second, deciding if I should apologize, and deciding if I should hold out for him knowing that both of us are wrong.

I'm done I say to myself as I turn and he presses his heavy hand on my shoulder.

"Vic," he says.

"Fuck off," I say.

I feel him behind me, his arms wrap around my waist, his chin in my neck, his lips on my ear.

"Vic."

My hands collapse around his forearms because they pretty much have a mind of their own and despite all this shit I know I love him. I know he's worth it.

"We need to stop." I audible.

"I know, babe." He whispers.

His lips traverse my neck, his tongue trailing across, igniting the fire that constantly burns between us but he stops because it's his turn to keep one of our promises.

Deep breathy tones fill my ear, "Be safe and remember that I love you."

He holds me tight, not letting me go, like his love depends on my breathing.

"I love you" and his arms tighten with mine.

"Are we good?" He asks

"You know we are." I tell him.

"I know"

"Why did you ask?"

"I'm afraid I'm losing you."

"Where would I go?"

"Anywhere you wanted."

"I want to be here."

"I want you here."

"I know"

"I love you." He whispers

"I love you." I say.

We stay like this for a few moments and I soak in the scent of him and as his arms relax I turn facing him. The piercing blue shines brilliantly in the morning sun.

"I'll see you after court?" I ask him casually.

His eyes fall to my chest and his finger meets his stare there, "I'm counting on it." He smiles touching me there like it's a natural way to have a conversation on the front porch.

He leans forward, I wait for his lips to touch me, but they don't instead he says quietly and suddenly, "Let's go away this weekend."

"What?"

He pulls back and looks at me, "Let's just spend some time together."

"I miss you." My fingers trace his overnight bearded jaw and I feel his cheek swell in my hand along with his smile.

"How long has it been?" He asks, his eyes looking up and out onto the unadulterated view from our porch.

"Hmmm at least two years." I answer not able to pinpoint when we were last together, alone, just us, away from Durant.

"We should end that streak this Saturday."

I think for a moment, processing the details, "Let's do it."

"I plan on it." His toothy grin growing wider.

I blush and its welcome, this feeling that flows through me.

"Ok"

This time when he leans forward he kisses me and my hand holds onto his ass and I don't want to let go.

"See you soon." My breath is hot.

"Yup." He follows. It's slow and seductive. He's talking about something else.

Driving to the station, I feel better, but know this weekend is more than a get-a-way it's a fork in the road. The past four years have been idyllic for us but now the lug nuts are loose and it feels like the wheels are about to fall off.

It took about a year for me to agree to move in with him and part of it was my shock that he was good with us living, in what he loosely defined, as sin. He wanted me to be sure and after some time I was sure that not only did I love him. I like him.

The calls come and go. The injuries come and go. The hurt feelings come and lately they stay. I chip. He gnaws.

I line-up coverage for the weekend while downing my morning oatmeal followed by a strawberry protein shake. I still smell like him. I take a deep breath hoping it doesn't go away. I entered us in a 5k charity race for the annual county BBQ. He balked, said he didn't run unless it was to dodge a bullet, and I promptly bought him a new pair of running shoes.

Rainier gets in the way of his training and I hate that but I'm not interested in changing who he is so I accept it.

A couple of weeks ago, Ferg filled out a police report listing Walt's pale legs as a public nuisance and an arrestable offense. It was funny but it is also true. He says blinding his opponents is part of his winning strategy.

I hear the distinct thud of his boots on the old wooden steps just before lunch.

He strolls in with his morning hellos and slides two bananas and a bottle of Smartwater full of ice chips on my desk.

"Peace offering?" I ask

"Something like that." He replies and his fingers slide over my shoulder as he walks past me into his office.

See, this is why I love him.

I wait.

Hearing his footsteps behind me, I feel the hair on my body begin to rise and he's next to me, not touching me, maintaining his professionalism.

I look up at him; my eyes meet his, his lips form the words, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

He nods just for a flash and I stand following him to his office.

The book sits on his desk, open to the first page, "How did you know?"

"We've come from that place, Walt. I thought it would be a good reminder for both of us."

Looking down at his desk, at the crisp clean distinctive smell of a newly pressed book, his once broken and healed fingers stroke the page and he reads my words, _The mind of man is capable of anything because everything is in it, all the past as well as the future._

Stepping toward me, he meets me on the visitor side of his desk, his hands rest on my hips with assuredness.

"Quoting Conrad, in a Conrad book, is a very attractive quality for a beautiful woman."

"A peace offering?" He asks.

"Love offering." I say.

His eyes are full and he's fully engaged, fully invested in this, in us.

"I'm going against one of our rules." He says softly and quickly as he kisses me and it's slow, and steady, and warm, and reassuring.

"You need to get busy planning our weekend." I say when our lips break, "I already got shift coverage for the weekend."

His deep blue eyes are half hidden by his drooped eye lids. Eyes that are ready. My hand slides up the front of his jeans, maybe its habit or maybe its instinct but it happens and I lean in and kiss him again while his arms fold around me.

"Save this for this weekend." I say teasing and gently squeezing before I turn toward the door.

He chuckles, that quick little thing he does, "Vic, I won't make it past tonight."

I feel my face flush, he still manages to get that reaction after all these years, and I smile.

"Don't start without me." I flirt back.

His face turns red and he smiles and the phone starts to ring.

"All's fair." I say laughing as I walk out of the door. Little did I know that the other end of that quote was on the other end of the line.


	2. Chapter 2

The line on the telephone stays solid amber yellow and I eat my bananas and finish half of my almost frozen Smartwater pushing it to the edge by nearly creating a frozen headache. I realize I am a dork but my guess is that you do the same thing. At least I admit it.

Ruby makes her customary uh huhs and okays while taking notes on her post-its. When she hangs up, she makes her routine trek into his office. The one where she knocks but doesn't wait for an answer she just opens the door. After a few minutes with her his boots sound with authority as he walks out of his office, pulling on his summer jacket. He never had the white stitching replaced and I never asked. It's unspeakable.

"What ya got?" I ask, standing, waiting for the answer.

"Ah, well." He says, his hands on his hips, and he looks around as if trapping his thoughts.

He looks at Ruby and she offers, "Linda Muldrew called. She's over at the Occidental. Apparently, she is having trouble with her brother and he won't leave the hotel."

Ferg looks up, "Muldrew," his voice raises an octave, "As in Muldrew?"

"Yup." He says and he looks over at me for a moment and I see it, I know I see it, but I don't want it to register but it does and I feel it in my heart and for a moment it stops. It stops beating.

"Walt." I say a little louder than I should as that bit of suspiciousness takes center stage in my tone.

Ruby glances then her eyes avert toward Ferg.

He looks at me, longer this time, and his jaw twists and his lips smack. He doesn't turn away this time, instead he walks toward his office, and again I follow him because I know that's what he is asking. It's in his eyes.

I stand, arms across my chest, you know my classic defensive pose.

"You want to tell me what's going on."

He stops mid-office, his hand flows up and his finger points "Close the door." He's asking. His voice is soft. The sun catches the ring on his finger.

I already know.

He looks down at his hand like he does sometimes and he stares at the back of his knuckles as he opens and closes his fingers. It's in these moments where I suspend belief and tell myself that self-reflection is normal. I wait, and look at the matching black tungsten band on my finger. He picked tungsten, said it would last a lifetime in the field, didn't want to take it off when he worked. It was only after we were married that he said we could pass our rings down to our kids. You know the kids we never discussed. The kids we don't have.

"Linda was Martha's best friend. They grew up together." He says while I am mid-daydream. He pauses and brushes his hand across his clean-shaven face.

"You mean you all grew up together."

He smiles, "Yeah, I suppose we did."

"Ok." I say as if he had to repeat third grade.

He looks out onto the square then back at me and flashes his hand once again absorbing the precious metal on his finger.

"When Martha progressed with her cancer she was preparing to die." He waits a beat as the raw reality of his past once again steps between us "She didn't want me to be alone."

My hip juts out to maximize my defensive posture.

"She wanted me and uh. Well she…." His voice trails.

"Did you fuck her?" I ask because at the end of this story that's all I really care about and if that makes me shallow and non-sensitive than to hell with it that's what I am.

He looks me at me solidly and steps directly in front of me lacing his hand in mine, "No, never did."

"Did you want to?" This is how curiosity killed the mangy dirty ass cat.

"I thought about it." He's still looking at me. "I didn't want to be alone. I didn't want a lot of things. In the end, though, I didn't."

"Did she want to?" The cat is still dead he used up all 9 lives with the first question.

"Yes." His fingers stay in mine.

"How come I'm just learning about Linda." Of course, I drag her name out.

"Wasn't important."

Quickly, I reassess because he can claim the same right, of hearing about every temptation, or God forbid, every guy. I yield to the warning signs going off in my head.

"Ok." I say.

"It is ok." He reaffirms.

He doesn't let go of my fingers and he pulls me closer.

"Don't be pissed." His voice is just above a whisper and I start to get mad because I notice how sexy his lips are when they move and I can't really concentrate on his words so I don' t respond quick enough and he presses a little closer.

"Vic." His voice is rumbly and of course I key into that instead of my name.

"What?" I ask.

"I don't want anyone else. I'm in love with you." His lips part into a reticent grin.

"I know." I tighten my fingers, "but it doesn't stop her from wanting or even loving you." Another fact.

I'm pretty sure I don't sound like a crazy insecure bitch and funny I don't think I am but all those things still don't equal stupid. You know the other thing they don't equal? They don't equal the ghost that keeps revisiting.

He looks down and pulls our hands up to his waist looking at our fingers twisted together and I realize that he's there, in my head, in my heart, and he kisses the back of my hand.

"I never thought to tell you."

"It's ok. Really." Right now, talking to him, standing this close, in this space, I know I mean it.

He kisses my fingertips.

"I never expected to see her again, Vic.' He kisses my cheek.

"We don't have secrets, remember." Reminding me, he kisses my lips.

"I trust you."

His head cants to the side, expecting any answer, except the one that I gave and he smiles a little wider this time. "Come with me."

He reaches up and moves the hair off of my neck, the little whispies that always fall onto my collar and he kisses the side of my mouth.

"Walt, you better go" I tell him because I've been rendered utterly powerless.

His fingers stay on my neck and I feel the gentle flick of my hair moving off to the side and I kiss him because I can. He's mine I tell myself. He invites me in and his entire body is warm.

"We are seriously breaking the rules." I whisper in his ear.

"I know." He says. "I can't help it."

"Me, neither" and I kiss his Adam's apple and he tastes good.

"Did you change your aftershave?" My eyebrows crunch together.

He shakes his head, "Nope."

"You smell…you smell so good." My body reacts.

The phone rings and it breaks our spell.

"Go." I all but order him.

He doesn't' let go of my fingers, "Come with me." He really means it.

"Let me get my jacket."

It's just any other call I tell myself as we head to the Occidental.

It is only a few blocks but we drive just in case we have to transport a prisoner back to the station. One of the small realities of police work. You never really know.

We get a block away and he says out of the blue, "You're more beautiful than usual and really that's saying something." He smiles and I smile and I look at him then out of the window at the small town landscape that holds so many memories and secrets.

"Thank you" I reply and tell him, "You aren't so bad yourself you know." His face tinges with pink and he winks. I want to jump his bones right here in the Bronco in the middle of the street. I think I've lost my mind. This is not how we behave. I can barely keep my hands off of him, my thoughts are another story, because I am consumed with him and it takes me back to Sean. It takes me back to how we used sex to make-up for what was broken. It's one of our rules. It's one of the facts of our marriage that we won't use sex to make-up what's wrong. We deal with the wrong.

We take our respective sides of door number 9 and Walt knocks, the official Sheriff's knock, "Linda, its Walt Longmire, open the door."

I saw her silky raven hair first, then her olive color skin, then the tear stained cheeks. Fuck me.

"You okay?" He asks, "Where's John?"

"He left" she sniffles "a few minutes ago."

She looks at me but I don't matter as she falls into his arms and sobs. He holds her, as he should, as I expect him to but it doesn't mean I'm good with it.

"I'm gonna check the room." Stepping past them, Walt holds his eyes on me and his face flattens out like he's trying to apologize. It means nothing he is saying without words.

"Ah, Linda." He presses his palms to her shoulders. "Linda."

I clear the small room, closet, and bathroom in a moment's time.

He gets her attention. She looks up at him with big brown beautiful doe eyes.

"Linda, this is Vic." His palm is open, looking toward me, and then squarely back at her.

"Vic is my wife."


	3. Chapter 3

She holds onto Walt's arm and grasps her minty green sweater pulling it tight across her overexposed breasts.

"Nice to meet you." She smiles and she is beautiful despite the weeping mascara.

I'm not jealous I tell myself. I have no reason to be. The first couple of years were weird, getting used to having a husband that other women wanted. Sean was cute but Sean isn't Walt. Walt is arguably the most powerful man in town with the swag to match. No, this, this marriage is built on love and trust. He has ample opportunity I tell myself, and that part is a fact of our lives, he's not interested. I sound convincing but there's no way in hell he forgot about her.

Walt looks up, his hat sitting low, as he surveys the room looking for clues.

"What's going on, Linda?"

She turns her attention back to him, leaving her hand on his forearm, "John" she says weepy, "he's out of control."

"Why don't you have a seat." He asks

She sits, "Thank you."

He sits across from her, his legs too long for the hotel chair, his hat perched on his knee.

"What set him off?" I ask because after all I do have a job to do.

"Our mom passed almost a year ago." She looks at Walt, "You knew that didn't you?"

"I didn't keep up after she moved to Sheridan."

A hint of a grin appears on her face as if she is remembering better and closer times.

"She always loved Durant. She always loved you." Her hand rests on his for a moment and it means more than she is saying.

He smiles back, "She was a special lady."

"So John" He continues

"Our parents estate is finally liquidated and we are both in town to meet with the lawyers and settle everything." She looks down as if all she ever wanted and all she ever dreamed of just dissipated and when she looks back up I see myself in her reflection. I see the sadness and I know this very easily could be me but it's not and for the first time I feel grateful and apologetic all at once and it nearly overwhelms me.

My hand goes to my mouth and I clear my throat, "Linda, how can we help you?" He must hear it, the change in my tone, and he looks at me and his face softens and the blue hue in his eyes brightens.

His eyes move back over to her, "Linda, did John hurt you?"

"No, not really. He was just upset about the estate and he was screaming and yelling. He may have shoved me but I'm ok, really."

His fingers curl into a fist and then relax the way they do.

"Can you give us a description? What is he wearing?" I ask and make notes in my notebook for the report.

I call it in to Ruby while Walt checks with the clerk asking him to give the station a call when John shows back up.

In the end, Linda doesn't want a report; she just wants peace and asks Walt to come with her to the lawyer's appointment.

"John will be ok, Walt. You know him. He respects you. Can you be there for us? For me?" She asks

He looks at me and he waits a beat while my eyes close, my lips purse together, and I nod yes ever so slightly.

This is why I don't need to worry.

"When is the meeting?"

"It's Monday at 9:00 a.m." She nearly pleads.

"Sure, Linda. I will be there."

She assures us she will be safe but Walt has the clerk move her to a different room.

On the drive back in the Bronco he says, "This won't ruin our weekend."

I tell myself to be thankful. Thankful for him trying to keep his promise of never putting me second because the truth is I usually am and so is he but right now, in this moment, I'm all that is on his mind.

"I know."

We cross onto Main Street and I add, "But it may ruin our evening just so you know."

We eat dinner on the porch and as confident as I am with us, with the life we have, even with the hardships and sensitivities I want to know what I don't know.

"So, any more ex-lovers going to pop-up out of the Jack n' the Box?"

He laughs, "No and she's not an ex-lover."

"Semantics." I say

He smiles wider, "Hey let's not have a contest."

"You got me there but I'm pretty sure if the shoe were on the other foot I would have told you." I smile and sip my chamomile tea.

"Vic, I didn't hide anything. I haven't thought of Linda in years. She moved shortly after Martha died. I didn't want to be with her then and I made that clear and I sure as hell don't want to be with her now."

"Just how did Martha feel so comfortable setting you two up in the first place? Something like that doesn't come out of left field."

"We all grew up together and Linda sorta liked me when we were in high school but she was never for me and she and Martha were very close like sisters but there was never anything between us."

His eyes are steady and I believe him then he adds, "You remember those tapes you found of Cassandra Two Rivers?"

 _Ghosts_

"Yeah." I blow in my cup cooling my tea.

"She told Martha I would end up alone and I think that trying to set me up with Linda was her way of preventing that and keeping me from getting too far down the rabbit hole."

Our eyes don't waiver. "Do you worry about that?"

"Being alone?"

"Yes."

""Yes" He waits, "More, lately."

"I love you, Walt but no marriage is perfect."

"I know both to be true."

His eyes drift over taking in the expansive view and then he's right back with me, his hand on my thigh, "You feeling any better?" He's thoughtful.

"Yes. I'm looking forward to our weekend."

"So am I."

He leans over and takes my hand putting the tea on the table and pulls my chair closer kissing my neck and my ear.

"No one else occupies my thoughts." His fingers trail my neck, his touch so gentle, so welcoming, and earnest. The rasp of his voice sends chills down my spine as he speaks into my ear and that's all it takes. My eyes close as I relish the touch of his hands on my body, the gentleness of his voice, the unmistakable hardness of his body. The taste of him. The smell of him.

This part has always been magical, but there's something different.

I get as far as unbuckling his belt.

He takes my hand, "Let's go inside."

"We can stay here." I playfully exclaim smiling at him.

He shakes his head and stands up, pulling me up into him, holding me close.

The spark grows to a fully engorged inferno and we barely make it inside before our clothes start coming off. I pull his shirt; the snaps rip apart, his man chest moving up and down keeping pace with his exalted breath and he grips my wrists forcing my hands to stop.

He doesn't say anything, doesn't whisper sweet nothings, as he not so gently nibbles the top of my ear and I can hear him breathing and feel the moist heat from his mouth.

"I'm going to lose it." I say in broken rhythm.

"That's the idea."

"Walt." Is all I can manage because I'm in a spin, my head is clouded, I can't think straight and my body has abandoned all sense of reality.

He loves me, I know, and he shows me like he's never shown me before. At least for tonight, the ghosts have been dismissed.

I tumble out of bed early and quietly pack our overnight bag while he sleeps. My mind drifts into an unexpected black vortex of sadness thinking of us when I hear him call my name.

"I'm in here." I shout and his long lanky frame fills the doorway wearing only his grey checked boxers. His hair is rumpled; his face looks worn yet relieved to see me.

I meet him in the doorway and kiss his lips softly, "Good morning."

"It is good, huh?" He says.

"Are you ok? I ask. You look worried."

"Just a little wore out from last night." He smirks but there's sorrow there. "You got us packed?"

"Almost. I didn't want to wake you."

"Thank you." He says. He's polite that way.

"You're welcome." I smile because I appreciate him.

"Coffee?"

"Yes."

I finish up and start to shower not expecting him to join me but he does. It's been a long time since we've done this and I miss it. He asks me to ride into work with him and on the way into town I reach over and take his hand in mine. Not a word is exchanged between us but I want to assure him that I want him.

We pull into the marked parking space out front and he looks over, not shutting off the engine, "Let's roll by the hotel and make sure everything is ok."

"Walt, she would call if she needed help?"

"I think she would but there's nothing wrong with a little extra patrol."

"Extra patrol, huh?" I tease.

"Yup." He winks at me.

I touch my finger to my lips and he complies with a quick kiss; another out of the ordinary move for us but I like it.

We pass the hotel and slow down just a bit. It looks like business as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary. Walt makes a U-turn, not quite at the intersection, a completely illegal maneuver I remind him, and he jokes about how I can cite him later for the infraction.

He stops in front of the hotel and he looks and he waits and his lips smack.

"Let's go up and check." He looks at me and he's patient.

I open the door and meet him on the sidewalk. There's no room for argument because he's right and I know it. We have a job to do.

Charlie, at the front desk, straightens out his once fashionable 3-button vest and says, "You missed her. She left about half-hour ago."

Walt stops, "Say where she was going?"

"Nope, and didn't ask. I stay out of folks business, Sheriff."

"Smart man." I say loud enough for Charlie to hear and he smiles at me displaying no shame in his chewing tobacco stained teeth.

"I'll drop you off at the station." Walt says, "I need to pick up a couple of things for this weekend." He offers a hint of a grin and I respond in kind.

I trudge up the stairs with a tray of coffees and some warm cinnamon rolls as a surprise and I push past the half-double doors to find Ferg and Ruby engrossed in conversation with none other than Linda Muldrew.

Fuck me.


	4. Chapter 4

Her face is brilliantly animated as she laughs with Ruby and Ferg recalling some hysterical adventure of the past.

I muster all of my politeness and apologize for not having a coffee for her.

I offer to make her some, can you believe that?

I do and you know what, she accepted.

Standing like an idiot, I watch, brewing a pot of coffee, while the three of them stroll down memory lane eating fresh cinnamon rolls.

When I offered her my roll I was appealing to the fat gods to make a special visit to see her because clearly she has been avoiding them.

"Please, call me Linda," she offers as she takes the roll.

"I see you can still eat anything," Ruby laughs, and there they go again down the yellow brick road.

Stick a fork in my eye.

She waits for a break in the conversation, "I was hoping to see Walter this morning is he not coming in?"

Ferg walks back to his desk and answers the phone then begins sorting through paperwork and Ruby casually walks to her desk subtly avoiding the expected fray.

"Late night." I say and cock my head to the side staring at her and I raise my eyebrow to bring home the point.

"Well you just never know with police work do you?" She offers.

"We weren't on-call." Let's see where she leaves it.

She purses her lips and makes an effort with her eyes as she smooths out her St. John dress, "Will Walter be in I would really like to speak with him in private."

This is where I have to remember that my husband is the Sheriff of this county and that he is an elected official because I want to beat this bitch down.

"Please, Linda, is it? Have a seat in his office. You can wait for him there." You know, I remember her name, but I play along.

She struts into Walt's office and I direct her to one of the visitor's chairs. I turn to face her, casually leaning on Walt's desk, with my arms and legs crossed, and trying very hard not to swirl my head around when I formulate my words to speak with her.

"Linda, what exactly is going on? I mean since you don't want to press charges against your brother. Which, you know is understandable."

"Well, Vic, I was hoping to speak with the Sheriff."

"I'm the Undersheriff. Maybe I can help you."

"Was that before or after the wedding, darling?"

That got both eyebrows to arch.

"Excuse me?"

"You're awful young to be the Undersheriff aren't you?"

"What are you implying?"

She smirks and looks toward the open mini-blinds, "This office hasn't changed much since I was last here I see."

I stare at her because I know she is baiting me and I remind myself that she is in a position of weakness. Besides our wedding picture on his desk next to the picture of him and Cady he hung pictures behind his desk where the murder board once was. I suppose it was a conscious effort to make new memories though we never discussed it I just let it be.

The wall has four perfectly arranged photographs; me taking first place in the state trap shooting tournament, him taking first in the pistol competition for the police Olympics in Denver last year and sandwiched between is a candid that Ferg took at the county BBQ three years ago with me, Walt and Cady laughing out loud. It's the nicest family picture I've ever seen. The last is of Henry and Walt locked in arms smiling those rare full tooth smiles at Henry's surprise birthday party a few years ago at the Red Pony.

She's full of shit and grasping at straws. This is my life. This is the life we have built together and while it's not perfect it's mine and she's got another thing coming if she thinks she can waltz in here and take it.

"I'm not sure how much longer he will be but you can wait in here if you like."

"Would you mind calling him? I would hate to wait too long I have another appointment I don't want to be late for."

"I thought you and Walt were close?"

She looks at me, her head cocked to the side, "I only ask, Linda, because you should know that Walt doesn't have a cell phone."

Before I can walk out or wait for her reply I hear the morning salutations as Walt enters the station and when he breaches the doorway I feel myself falling in love with him all over again.

"Hey." He says looking facing me filling the open space.

"Hey." I say, "Linda would like to speak with you privately."

"Linda" He says, walking through into his office, and he nods good morning and she looks at him trying to put the pieces together.

He steps past her, stops in front of me, pulls off his hat and leans in all in one motion, giving me a very soft and very slow kiss on the lips as if we are the only two people in the world; rules be damned. Then he hands me the bouquet of spring flowers he is holding.

"Good morning, again." He says not moving and not whispering and I know it is for Linda's benefit.

"Good morning." Taking the flowers and smelling them, "Thank you, baby." I strut out of his office and close the door behind me.

Right here, in this moment, It feels good being Mrs. Longmire.

"Those are so pretty, Vic. Here put them in the vase here." Ruby hands me the office vase filled with water.

"So, do I have anything to worry about, Ruby?"

She looks at me, "Oh, Vic. You know better than that."

"I know but does she know?"

Ruby looks resigned.

"Vic, I don't want to get between you and Walter. You know how I feel about you two. You're like my kids."

I put my hand on her arm. I know Ruby and I love you for it.

I pour a cup of coffee dropping the subject and Ruby offers, "When Martha was dying she asked Linda to take care of Walt. She didn't want Walt to be alone and she thought that putting them together would be a good thing for both of them."

"That's pretty much what he told me."

"Well, I know your husband, and I would venture to guess that he didn't tell you that he did not go along with that program at all. Linda tried though because she has always loved him. She kept it bottled up for years."

"How could Martha be friends with her?"

"That's how Martha was. She was just the sweetest thing, Vic. She trusted her husband and she trusted Linda. I don't think Linda ever crossed any boundaries; she loved Martha like a sister. They were very close and she was there for Martha when she was diagnosed. They were the absolute best of friends."

"All seems like some Stepford Wives bullshit if you ask me."

Ruby smiles, "Well if you put it like that." She looks over my shoulder then back at me, "You are married to a different man than he was all those years ago."

My head turns to the side trying to understand.

"Martha and Cady were alone quite a bit because Walter was married to the job and Lucian sure didn't help free up his time. It's a wonder they were able to stay married but I suspect it's because they just loved each other so darned much."

I look down at my coffee cup. _Ghosts_

"I appreciate you telling me, Ruby." I force a smile.

She touches my forearm, "That man in there, he loves you, but he's a rare one and that means there will always be temptations out there. It's up to you how you deal with that."

"Thank you, Ruby." I give her a gentle hug because she is such a blessing to us and my display of emotion surprises even me.

Sitting at my desk, I nurse my coffee, "Hey, Ruby did we change coffee brands? The coffee doesn't taste good this morning."

"Nope. It's the same so is the water."

"Hmm. I guess I just don't make it good like you do." I say and try to dismiss the fact that Linda is still in the office with Walt with the door closed.

After a while, his door opens and Linda walks out with Walt close behind her.

"Thank you, Walter." She leans in and kisses his cheek, glances at me, says good-bye to Ferg and Ruby and struts out.

I maintain my composure and before I can formulate anything Walt says, "I think we may have a missing person."

Ferg asks before we can, "Whose missing?"

"Linda thinks her brother, John is missing. He didn't show up at the hotel last night and he's nowhere to be found this morning. She checked his room and all of his stuff is there."

"Did she call him?"

"His cell phone is still in his room according to her."

"She call his house, wherever the fuck he lives?"

"No answer."

"You have got to be shitting me." I reach for my jacket, "Ok, let's go."

Walt doesn't move, his hands are firmly planted on his hips, "Vic, ahm, Ferg is going to come with me."

The anger is there before I can process it as an emotion.

His jaw is set and his teeth start to grind like he doesn't want to explain himself and everything clicks at once.

"I'm keeping my promise." He says.

"To her or to me?" I ask

His eyes are fixed and deep telling me there is no room for negotiation. His mind is set.

"To both of you."


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm coming with you. If all of us work on this maybe we can find John and lock his ass in the hotel room until Monday."

"Vic. I'm not asking." He doesn't say it loud but soft and subtle exuding his authority in his quiet way, his authority as the Sheriff and as my husband.

My eyes are still as I look at him and I can feel my face go absolutely blank muscle by muscle until there's nothing left for me to give him. I don't think I've ever really been angry with him, not in all the years we have been together, especially not since we have been married. I've been pissed, sure, but I've never ever felt like walking away from him and leaving it but right now, right now, with this authoritarian bullshit he can go fuck himself.

I pull on my jacket, step past him, brushing his shoulder though, not on purpose, and walk out without saying a word. I don't bother slamming the door behind me, he and everyone else, get the point.

It's better to walk away, that's the refrain that is playing through my head, recalling all of the knock down drag out fights I had with Sean. I vowed never to be that person again and I've never really been in this place with Walt but that's changed now. The anger and frustration that I never thought I would feel in this marriage is here and it's taking me by surprise but that doesn't make it any less real.

I don't quite make it to my truck door when I hear him behind me.

"Vic."

I turn to look at him as Ferg crosses over to the Bronco avoiding this catastrophe on Main Street. Walt's face is sullen, his eyes deep and dark.

"What's wrong?" He stands close, his hands on his hips, and he waits.

"I don't know." I, shrink back against the door of the truck, and I feel the tears in the back of my eyes, my jaw clenching refusing to let them muster.

He stands silent looking at me trying to figure out where he and we went wrong.

"I'm just tired, Walt."

"Tired?" His head cants, his eyebrows crunch, and he seriously is trying to identify what species of animal I am right now.

"I don't want to do this anymore." I tell him and they are honest and they are true.

"Vic….I…" He gives up mid-sentence and turns away.

He's gone when I look back, nearly at the Bronco, his left foot just a quarter-beat behind.

I can't tell you how long I sat behind the steering wheel trying to figure out just where the wheels began to fall off, where the insecurity came from, where the hypersensitivity began, but what I can tell you is that it is here. They have all assumed residency in my marriage and have managed to create a permanent state of misunderstanding with my husband. I don't know how to fix this. I'm not any different than you are. Remember that as you judge me.

Playing the conversation with Linda over in my mind like an endless loop knowing it is an exercise in self-destruction. The more I hear her voice in my head the more idiotic I feel. The more questions I have. What kind of man wouldn't tell me about her? What other secrets does he have? What is he hiding? Did he want me out of the way on purpose? Why is the promise he made to her as important as the one he made to me?

 _Fuck this_

I drive the short distance to the Occidental and park across from the Bronco. I don't radio in or announce my arrival instead I smile big at Charlie, faking it, and he points upstairs his non-verbal signal to the right direction.

"Deputy Ferguson is out back but your husband is upstairs with Jackie O."

My smile turns wicked and I want to crack on his 3-button vest but I let it go to focused to be distracted by the remnants of his leisure suit. Besides, I think he was being sarcastic with the Jackie O reference and quite frankly it was witty and spot on.

I take the stairs, any extra steps, I tell myself will help with the upcoming 5k, it may not be rational, but hey I buy the lie.

I step on the landing with full momentum toward the t-crossing in the hallway when I hear her voice slightly elevated.

"She obviously doesn't know about me, Walt."

My heart stops. It's beating in my ears. I struggle to hear his voice as I freeze with the irrational fear that he's been fucking her.

"There's nothing to know, Linda." His voice is raised by Walt standards.

"How can you say that to me?"

"Say what?"

"That's there nothing to know?" Her voice sounds a little angry and a whole lot hurt.

"Because there isn't."

"Walt, how can you say these things to me. Didn't you ever care what Martha wanted? What she knew could be between us?" She pleads.

"What were you and John arguing about last night?" He asks, deflecting, that's what he does, he's perfected the skill.

Surprisingly she answers, "I told you the settlement of mom's estate."

"Why would he be mad about it?" His voice is hard.

"The division of the property I suppose." She's talking slow as if she is helpless and weak.

"What is the value of the estate?" He sounds pointed and pensive.

"About 4 million dollars give or take." She says so casually.

"There's just the two of you, right?"

I can hear the tears in her voice from here, "You know there's only us."

"Is John in any trouble?" He's in straight Sheriff mode.

My body cringes at the thought of him sharing his body, his heart, with anyone else.

"I can only imagine, Walt."

"Imagine?

"That's why we meet with the attorneys on Monday to settle the will and the income."

It's silent for a moment and I hear him speak, "Show me your brother's room? Retrace your steps from last-night."

I turn and run down the stairs avoiding them as they head in my direction down the hall. I scurry past Charlie and think doesn't he ever take a break?

"Bye now." He calls after me.

"Bye, Charlie." I say and I get to the door before the blood rushes to my brain I have my first semi-rational thought. There's no reason for me to leave.

I need to stand my ground and fight for what's mine.


	6. Chapter 6

It's one of those Helter-Skelter moments.

"Walt." I say while trying to make eye contact without being emotional. His eyes are conflicted and reflect what I feel. His face turns to stone and the mot is fully intact.

"We're on our way to John's room." And he points and looks at Linda, "Is it this way?"

She nods and offers him a slight grin. He extends his hand for her to walk ahead.

After she's a step or two in front of us, Walt looks at me, and I think he's going to say something as his lips open but he doesn't and he looks up and over my shoulder, then down the hall, towards Linda.

He steps forward and I can see the hurt in his eyes, the pain on his face, but there's anger there, too.

It's only a fraction of a second but it's a moment in time that defines who we are as I reach for his hand grasping just the finger tips and he curls his finger around mine.

"Partners?" I ask

"Yup" He let's go and walks down the hall where he meets Linda whose standing and watching.

Here's the other part of that moment where I decide the definition of us and I turn around and walk-out of the front door. It's a simple thing but for him, for us, it's not. My steps to my truck feel surreal. My mind and my body desperately fighting to gain synchronicity. This thousand foot journey is into total trust and abandonment of doubt.

Before I hit the top step of the station Ruby meets me.

"I know, Ruby." I try to prevent the incoming flux of guilt.

"Vic, are you okay?"

"No, not really." The truth spills out and I want it to.

"Are those headaches back?" She makes me think of the wicked things of my past, of our shared past, things I push aside.

"Sometimes."

"Let's schedule you an appointment with the doctor." Her tone is compassionate and loving, not that I deserve either.

"Ruby, really, I'm ok."

"It's time for your annual exam anyway, part of your fitness for duty requirements."

"Fuck. I can't get a break."

"It was your idea we institute these rules."

I slump in my chair, "You don't have to remind me," I say thinking of the conspiracy to get Walt to the doctor. The county counsel was able to lower the self-insurance premiums by twenty percent if all sworn staff participated in annual preventative health exams. The plan worked but now I'm the victim of my own devices.

She starts dialing and I rub my eyes in the palms of my hands trying to recover. The flowers sitting on my desk are a quick and easy reminder that Walt is trying even though we're a mess. He's the guy that was my best friend who not only teased me but tracked down the note in the flowers that marked the beginning of the end for me and Sean.

Staring at the bouquet, I reach over and pull down the opaque envelope sitting in the 3-pronged plastic fork holding in place.

 _VIC,_ is pressed in black ink on the front in his distinctive all capitals version of English.

The envelope is sealed, protecting our privacy, typical Walt.

I pull the thin gummy strip apart tearing the paper, opening the single sleeved card inside.

 _VICTORIA_

 _"NOTHING ENDURES BUT CHANGE." HERACLITUS_

 _WE WILL CHANGE BUT MY LOVE FOR YOU IS CONSTANT, IT'S PURE, AND IT, TOO, WILL ENDURE. -WALTER_

I don't have time to register what I've read or how I feel when Ruby interrupts my thoughts.

"I pulled some strings with Wendy at the office and the doctor is waiting for you. Get in gear young lady."

"What, now?" I ask.

"Yes." She's firm. "We've been through this before, Vic."

"Ok, shit." I start toward the stairs, "Call me when there's an update, Ruby." Fucking small ass town I think.

"Will do."

I stop at the top of the stairs turning back toward her, "Oh, and Ruby."

She looks up.

"Thanks for the distraction."

She smiles and I press the card into the breast pocket of my uniform shirt next to my heart where it belongs.

Strolling into Doc Pederson's office, Wendy smiles, and opens the thru door.

"Good morning, Vic."

"Hey, Wendy."

"Those headaches back, again?" She asks while I stand on the scale.

"Hey take two pounds off for all this shit I'm wearing."

Laughing, "How about three?"

"I'll take it."

She tightens the Velcro and presses the button while the machine does its work measuring my blood pressure, plastic strip in my mouth, and it all shows that I am living and breathing without a fever or risk of stroking out in the office.

She pulls up my medical history on the flat screen, clicking and typing, updating.

"The only prescription I have on record is for LoOvaral."

"Yup, still on the pill."

"Ok."

She smiles at me and reassures me that Doc Pederson will see me in a few minutes.

I lean back on the examination table, the paper rumpling beneath me, and I look at the gray walls with the sporadic two-dimensional spread out charts of various body parts.

Who knew my knee looked like that on the inside or the number of bones in my foot. Whose boring ass job is that anyway, putting together these monotonous posters but I decide I would rather memorize the foot bones than read an article in the worn Cosmopolitan magazine on the counter.

The cursory knock and Doc Pederson steps in wearing his crisp white lab coat with his name embroidered in blue and for the first time I notice it actually says, "Doc Pederson." I smile.

"Victoria Longmire, what ails you besides the degradation of man?"

"Always the philosopher." I smirk.

He clicks on the same computer reading my chart.

"You can save all that for Walt, you know." I say.

He turns and looks at me with his larger than life smile, wide jaw, and classic black framed glasses.

"Well we weren't co-captains on the debate team for nothing in high school you know."

"I can only imagine."

"No, you can't." He says like there's a secret.

"Oh, really."

He laughs out loud, "We were intellectual studs I'll have you know."

I roll my eyes and think of Walt's note warming my pocket and imagine Linda and Martha and the awkwardness of youth. The factual reality of living in a small town. Everyone knows everyone and everyone knows everyone else's business.

"Those headaches back." He asks as he shines a light in my eyes, his huge hand supporting my head as I lean it back.

"On occasion."

"You have any other things going on? Sleepy, appetite changes, hypersensitivity, anything like that?"

"I've been training for the 5k so it's hard to say about my appetite but I've been a bit emotional lately."

"Lately." His eyes get big and his laugh is back.

I laugh with him.

"Yeah, Doc."

He looks in all the common places, ears, nose, and throat and checks my pulse.

"How long have you been feeling this way?"

"A couple of weeks maybe more." I think, "Maybe a month or so."

He pauses with his hand in his lab coat pocket, the wheels turning in his head, "Let's set up a MRI. I want to have a really good look to make sure there haven't' been any changes."

He looks down on the keyboard, the first hints of gray are starting on his hairline. His skin is smooth and tight. His large fingers type with precision an atypical talent for a man his size.

"Do you think there's something going on?"

"Well, yeah there's something going on otherwise you wouldn't be here but what that is I don't know and I want to make sure."

"Are you trying to hide something from me?"

"Hide?"

He turns in the swivel stool and looks at me as if my word choice was uniquely odd and somehow accusatory.

"No, Vic, I'm not."

Suddenly, a gush of fear pulses through me, like maybe I have a brain tumor or early onset Alzheimer's or maybe Parkinson's disease. Trauma to the brain is a serious injury I remind myself.

"Ok." I say but I don't convince myself.

"Wendy will set up your appointment but you will have to drive to Sheridan like before."

"Ok."

He looks at me and slides forward, his chocolate brown slacks just touch my uniform pants, "Is there something you are hiding from me?"

I wasn't prepared for that question and retreat to defensive mode because now I think I'm being paranoid. "No."

"Are you telling me everything?"

"Yes." I say but I'm lying and I'm pretty sure he knows it.

"Are you having memory lapses?"

"No, Doc, I'm not." Other than the occasional loss in remembering that my husband loves me.

He folds his gigantic hands together interlacing his fingers and rests them on his thighs.

"Are we gonna sit here until I confess?" I ask

"I can accommodate that." He says

"I'm armed you know."

"I'm dangerous."

We laugh.

"What else is going on?"

"I've been an emotional wreck and the headaches are more frequent."

"Everything alright at home?" His eyes wince as he asks the question.

"Yeah, just lovely."

"Even with Linda Muldrew in town?"

"Fuckin' eh, Doc, really?" I'm nearly yelling.

"It's a small town, Vic and you haven't been here for a nearly a year. You're emotional, you're headaches are back, I would say that if your head trauma is not the culprit it is the sudden onset of stress."

"Stress. Ok. I can live with that." I am relieved that maybe I don't have a brain tumor.

"Any chance of pregnancy?"

"I'm on the pill. You know that."

"When was your last menstrual cycle?"

I tap my phone and check my calendar, "last month, the 18th."

He looks up as if is adding, "About 5 weeks ago."

"Let's rule that out, too." He looks at my electronic chart, again. Your pap isn't due for another two months but we can do it today if you want."

"No, thanks. Doc, I'm on-duty and what girl wants to go back to work after that."

"Point taken." But make an appointment, Vic let's keep on top of it.

"Promise."

"So, my immediate prescription is to get some rest and relax. You can take over-the-counter aspirin or Tylenol for the headaches."

"You forgot to add not to worry about Linda?"

He takes his glasses off and pinches his nose at the bridge and his hazel eyes look dead at me, "She wasn't a threat in high school so I would imagine she isn't one now." And he gives me his fullest brightest smile.

"A host of friends that's what I have."

His massive paw lands on my forearm, "You do, indeed." There's not a hint of sarcasm in his voice and I am reminded once more of the life I inherited through my husband.

"Thanks, Doc."

He excuses himself and Wendy comes in with the plastic cup and blood vials and affixes labels.

"You know the drill, dear."

"What, no stick?"

"Not as reliable as the lab. You know how Doctor Pederson is, old school."

"Wants to make sure the rabbit is dead or alive." I say.

"Is that a snarky joke in reference to you occupation?" She asks.

"Gheez is everyone a fucking philosopher in this town."

Wendy smiles at me, "And this is news to you, why?"

I shake my head, make my appointments, and she reassures me I will have the results back by Friday. Heading back to the station I decide to stop at the A&P to buy a bottle of Bayer aspirin and a home pregnancy test.

Pulling into the parking lot, I notice the Pennsylvania plates first; the Keystone State.


	7. Chapter 7

I rummage through my duty bag looking for my wallet when my cell phone rings. It's the station number.

"Hello." I say.

"Vic, hey it's me, uhm do you think you can uh come to the station and help us out? Walt thinks that John's disappearance is suspicious."

"Suspicious as in dickhead is really missing or what?"

"More like he thinks he may have been taken against his will."

"What?"

"Ah, yeah, about coming in."

"I'm on my way, Ferg."

"Ok, thanks."

Before he hangs up I ask because I'm masochistic that way, "Where is Walt?"

"He's at the hotel."

"Great." I say and hang-up.

I sit for a moment deciding. Should I go buy my aspirin or just head straight to the station. It's one of those insignificant decisions that becomes all-encompassing, like being sleepy and hungry at the same time. Do I eat then sleep or do I sleep then eat. It should be a no-brainer but it never is and both turn out the same, wasted time and doubt in your decision.

I back out of the parking space eyeing the maroon Buick and actually say goodbye to the Keystone State plates and dream of a cheesesteak on my way back to town.

"What we got Ferg?" I ask as I walk into the station spotting Ferg at his laptop engrossed in the electronic images displayed.

I'm jolted by the image of Walt standing behind my desk. He looks up, his eyes intense and focused, his long fingers resting on their tips on top of the wood.

"Hey." I say peeling off my jacket.

He steps aside, his arms poise by his side, his body tense.

"Can we talk for a minute?"

He's super quiet in that reflective state that I've grown accustomed.

"Sure."

I stroll into the office ahead of him and he closes the door gently like he's afraid if he lets loose he will break the door off of its hinges.

He stands facing me, the rays of sunshine pouring through the slats in the blinds, "Ruby told me you went to see Doc Pederson." His hand comes up and stops, as if he needs permission; I step forward closing the distance.

His fingers trace my face, "The headaches are back?" He's concerned.

"Sometimes." His fingers are warm and soft.

"Why didn't you tell me?" His voice pitches higher into that delicate space.

"I don't want you to worry."

"But, I do."

He presses his lips on my forehead and I fall into his chest.

"I wish I could take the pain away."

My body relaxes into his.

"Did he order any tests?"

"Sheridan. MRI."

"When?"

"Next Tuesday at 8:45."

He leans back and looks at me, moving his fingers down my neck, "I'm coming with you."

"Thank you."

"I don't know what to do anymore."

His words, his frustration float through the air surrounding us, and I stay in his arms.

"I know"

I lean back, "So, tell me about this shit bird is he missing or what?" The art of deflection, I was taught by the master.

"Ahm, well I have Ferg doing some background research on him."

"We looking for motive?"

"Yeah."

This is what we do; we traverse back into our world, where the fate of others rest dismissing our own in the process.

"Two million dollars isn't enough?"

His face crinkles and I answer his question before he asks, "His share of the four million they got coming from the estate."

We break apart, standing, squaring off in front of each other.

"What?" He earnestly asks me.

"You were there?" He asks me his face losing its fine detail of emotion.

"In the hallway."

"You don't trust me?" The anger appearing.

"It's not that."

"What the hell is it, Vic?" The grit grounds out with his words.

"You can't just dismiss me."

"I wasn't dismissing you."

"What the fuck do you call it?"

"Being the Sheriff. It's my call, Vic."

"I know it's your call. I mean I get that but why would you?"

"I wanted Ferg to take the lead, Vic. If it's something that takes us into the weekend I wanted him to handle it. I'm trying my best to keep my promises to you."

"Why wouldn't you just say that?"

"Vic, I just can't be what you want me to be."

It is the first time I've ever heard him sound defeated.

"I'm not trying to change you."

He just stares toward the window, with the light slicing him in pieces, much like our marriage.

"I'm going to work this case. You do what you want to do." He exclaims and he turns toward the door.

"What is that supposed to mean, Walt?"

"It means whatever you want it to mean." He's dismissive as he walks out of the office.

I hear him barking at Ferg, "What have you found so far?"

"Well, ah Walt, John graduated from Durant High School in 1980, a year ahead of Linda, and Ruby remembers that he went off to Europe and only came back occasionally to visit his parents. I know I haven't seen him since working for my dad. He was here when his parents restored the big house on their property and my dad had the roofing contract. That was maybe ten years ago."

I walk over and sit at my desk trying to keep it all in because I don't know how to fix this or where it all came from.

"You find anything arrest records?" Walt asks.

"I haven't gotten that far. I just really got started when you came back to the station."

"Ok, you check for prior arrests. Maybe he hooked up with the wrong crowd while looking for fun and adventure."

Ruby adds, "John was a bit of a rebel-rouser, you should remember that Walter. He was always getting into trouble."

"Like what, Ruby." I ask spinning my pencil in my hand, trying desperately to appear normal.

"If I remember right, Lucian, brought him in for smoking marijuana under the football bleachers during homecoming. That was a big deal back then."

"When I checked the room his cell phone, wallet, luggage, everything was still in the room. Linda picked him up from the airport so he doesn't have a car."

"Where does he live?" I ask.

"Wilkes-Barre." He says.

"As in Pennsylvania?"

He nods.

"Fuck."


	8. Chapter 8

Walt steps it up to 75 as we head to the A&P. It's quiet and it's just us.

I reach over and take his hand, there's tension there, but he doesn't pull away and he drives with two fingers on the wheel, his elbow perched on the door seal.

"Doc took some blood and some urine for more tests." I wasn't planning on telling him.

He doesn't look over but keeps his eyes on the road. His jaw is set as he navigates the road.

"He wants to rule everything out." I add, waiting for him to interject, but he isn't focused on me and I know he's rattling around in his head somewhere. This is the wrong time to talk to him, the wrong place; everything about us is wrong right now.

I press my hand just a little tighter, "I'm late." I can't stop the words even though I know I'm making a mistake. It's that masochistic thing again.

His eyes shift over for a millisecond and then back onto the road ahead. Trying not to hyperventilate, I breathe in my nose and slowly blow out of my mouth, because the realization that I may actually be pregnant is freaking me the fuck out and his insular bullshit is compounding my worst fears.

Walt shifts his hand and interlaces his fingers through mine but he doesn't say anything. I look out to the road, my index finger perched under my bottom lip to keep me from losing my shit, as I watch the open range pass us by.

I don't look at him when I say, "You aren't going to say anything?" I'm filled with worry.

He pulls our hands apart and presses his palm to his face wiping it with the back of his hand. His Adam's apple moves up slowly then back down.

Looking over at me his eyes are glistening, he swallows, "A baby." He's not exactly asking, more like the shock of it, the possibility of it, hit him square in the throat.

"How can we have a baby, Walt? I don't even know who you are?"

"What?" He's completely perplexed.

"Linda."

"She doesn't matter."

"You don't forget something like that."

He pauses but doesn't retreat, "There never seemed like a right time." He finally says. His hand coming up trying to help him explain.

"We both worked hard to move beyond the past and I knew Linda never mattered but if I told you I thought it would only hurt you. I never want to hurt you, Vic."

"What else haven't you told me?"

He's silent again. He's processing and thinking.

"George Linder committed suicide."

"What?" My head is on a swivel.

"Ty confessed to shooting George to make it look like a homicide so that the Linders' could collect the insurance money. Bob confirmed that George had tried to commit suicide in the past."

My head is in a spin.

"I knew Bob wasn't driving the car that hit Cady. It was about putting things right in the atmosphere." Then he tells me about the Eagle feathers, the sweat lodge, about Denver, and the visits from ghosts.

"This is who I am." He says firmly as he rests his hand on my thigh.

"Morality isn't black and white, Vic."

"I know"

We continue down the highway, our speed at a constant, and the thoughts trickling in and out like the expanse of trees we pass on the road. My hand falls to the back of his, keeping it in place on my thigh. I love him touching me; it's a weakness, a very significant one at that. I look at him, the stoic profile he presents, the shock of revelation fills my pores and weighs me down, and I feel as if I will sink through the seat and melt into the frame from the burden of truth that will forever be a part of me.

I shape shift from wife to Undersheriff. We roll through the surveillance video with the security guard. The guard, is squared away, and burns a compilation from the dozen cameras on the property.

"I can burn the footage from each camera on a separate disc for evidentiary purposes and I will just mail them to you in the morning. It will save you a trip all the way out here." He says holding the black sharpie in his hand, pressing finely shaped blocked letters on the disc.

"Where'd you learn all this?" Walt asks as if he recognizes the signs.

"Marine Corp, been home about 18 months now, was in Communications."

Walt puts his big paw out and he stands to shake it, "Walt Longmire."

"Stan Kupchak. Nice to meet you Sheriff Longmire. You're as big in person as they say."

He turns to me and extends the same hand, "Stan Kupchak, ma'am. I see by the stars you're the Undersheriff." He smiles almost embarrassed and looks back at Walt, "You're a lucky man, sir."

I smile, "Yeah, he is."

Walt gives him his rare toothy smile, his deep dimples pronounce, the lines around his eyes converge, he's all man in this moment.

Stan gives Walt the DVD.

"This should get you started Sheriff. I'll post the information in the office here so my relief can call in if the car or those two guys show back up."

They shake hands again and he gives me a little wave but he's respectful not overstepping his bounds.

Walt opens the door and I step through, his hand at my back, as we leave the store. He stalls at the curb next to the Bronco, his hands on his hips, his coat jacket pulled back. The creamy brown blending with the deep navy blue button up he's wearing making his smile even more impressive.

"Do you want my baby?" He says and it catches me off guard.

"I don't know." I say and I can see the instant pain but that's not my intention it's the reality just as our reality is talking about a life altering decision in a grocery store parking lot.

"Walt, we never talked about this and for two pretty smart people we aren't so smart."

"You worried about your career? " He's sincere and he's concerned.

"My career and your career. How can we be fair to a kid with two parents that are cops?"

He smacks his lips like he's been thinking that the entire time.

"What about us, Walt. We fight too much. I can't raise a kid like that." I pause, "I won't raise a kid like that."

"I know." He says and he moves next to me my butt pressed against the seat.

"I don't have any more secrets, Vic. You know who I am and you've always known."

His fingers trace down my neck, his hand on my hips, as he kisses my lips catching me completely by surprise.

My face turns hot, "Walt, stop."

He is standing so close I can feel him and he puts his hand on my stomach just above my belt buckle.

"That's how we got here in the first place." I say trying to save whatever professionalism is left.

"Let's get out of here." He whispers and he's ready and I swear he would if I said yes.


	9. Chapter 9

It takes him about 35 seconds to talk me into it and half-way home I tell him we need to get our minds right, be professional, get back to the station, and work the case.

"Ah" He sighs and I laugh and he blushes. He's hot.

He shakes his head and suddenly gets serious.

"I don't think you should be in the field?"

"We won't know the results until Friday."

"You're never late."

"Yeah, well I've also never been 38 before, my body is changing, Walt."

He's smiling like the Homecoming King that just got laid, "Well, I enjoy your body and the changes, too." And he gives my thigh a squeeze.

"Oh, pregnant fantasies huh. I told you I don't know everything." I bat my eyes teasing him, my tone light.

"It's my baby and well you know there's something kinda barbarian about that." His smile is simmering.

"Are you fucking serious?" I laugh my face completely full smiling at him, his flushing.

"Vic." He says all smooth and slow.

"What."

"You are really killing me over here."

"Well, kick it in gear, and let's go find fantasy princess' shithead brother."

He reaches between his legs and pulls his jeans down a bit adjusting his boxers and himself and now I'm on the ropes because there's all kinds of things I want to do with my husband at this very moment. I do have a sense of professional decorum and I exercise every ounce of will and capacity at this moment.

"It would explain why I'm all cra cra the past few weeks but Linda's perfect ass didn't help either."

He nods like he doesn't want to acknowledge the fits of insecurity and vulnerability that have permeated our relationship and he's definitely not going to take the perfect ass as bait.

"What if our kid grows up to be a shithead, Walt?"

"He won't."

"He"

"Yeah, he."

"You sound positive."

"Well, non-traditional positions tend to produce boys."

My entire body is on fire.

"I read that somewhere." His face not betraying him.

"I know a lot of cops in Philly whose kids are fucked up." I say switching the subject before I lose it.

"That's true everywhere."

"I don't know if I want kids, Walt."

He looks over at me and back to the road.

"That doesn't make me a bad person, or a bad woman, it just makes me honest."

"You're scared, babe. It's normal."

"I'm fucking terrified."

"That's normal too."

"You seem to be handling it well."

"I'm scared shitless." He says and his lips flatten out. "Having a kid at 53 is daunting."

"We're probably worried for nothing."

"Yup."

The road brings us closer to town and I think of calling my mother which just verifies that I'm on the edge of a nervous breakdown and Walt says, "I think John got mixed up with the wrong crowd and this whole thing is a wild goose chase."

"What gives?"

"Linda told me John was an investment banker but lost his shirt in 2008 when everything crashed. He's been trying to recover ever since."

"I don't get it. Two million dollars isn't enough to recover?"

"It depends on who you owe."

"You think those two goons on the DVD are here to collect?"

"Maybe."

"We should get Ferg to start checking hotels."

"Yup, hopefully we can make out the plate. You sure you don't remember it?"

"No, just the numbers 212, New York area code is how I remember that part."

"The partial plate will help."

"So you think John is voluntarily missing?"

"We put him in NCIC as "at-risk" figured we had more than enough to justify it but I don't think he is necessarily a victim."

"What does Linda think?" I ask with the least amount of attitude I can manage but you know it still came out.

"I think she's really worried."

"You don't think she wanted the entire four million for herself."

"It crossed my mind."

"But"

"That's not what she's after."

That made me turn in my seat and I look at him studying his profile and he glances at me and I say, "That shit is obvious and two million dollars is also very obviously seductive."

He laughs that short laugh, "Yeah, Vic, I've always been about the money."

"You can't say it didn't cross your mind."

"Would it cross yours?"

"Fuck yeah."

He looks at me.

"Walt, it may only be for three seconds but it would cross my mind. You are a real living breathing flawed human being after all. What the fuck? Why wouldn't you think about it even if for a moment?"

"You have a point."

"Besides you thought about sleeping with her when she wasn't a wealthy heiress I would think it would be a thought now."

"The situation was different."

"I know."

"Do you?"

"Yeah, but it has nothing to do with me, that's the part that took me a while. If you turned her down when you were the most vulnerable, after losing Martha, there's no way you would say yes to her now."

"It took you long enough."

"Well if you had told me in the first fucking place."

"You're right, Vic. My only defense is I didn't want to hurt you." He's being super serious as he holds his glance.

"Well, I'm a big girl, you always ask me to trust you, but you have to trust me also."

"What have you got to tell me?"

"What?"

"What don't I know?"

It's like the lion that's cornered its prey but the prey is a honey badger.

"Sometimes I still think I'm not good enough for you, this small ass town bores the shit out of me, and if I'm pregnant I don't want you to think it was on purpose."

His hand tightens around my thigh and my fingers trace his.

"I know but you are, I feel it and will make a better effort to get us out of here, and I wish it was on purpose."

"What, how can you say that? We never talked about it."

"I've thought about it especially as I get older, Vic, but your career is important. It's equally important as mine if not more so. I may be a Neanderthal in some things but not that, never that."

I shake my head like a jolt.

"I suppose it would be nice for you to raise a son."

"Girls are pretty fantastic."

I squeeze his hand and he traps my fingers.

"Listen, we have time to think about our options." His voice is warm but stoic.

"You must really love me."

"I do."

"I really love you, too."

"I know."

"You could retire and stay at home."

His face is straight, "I could."

"But you won't."

"Give me five years."

"What?"

"You stay home five years and I'll retire and take it from there."

"Seriously?"

"Yup."

He smiles big and says, "We're having a baby, baby." And that shit does things to me.

"Walt, we won't know until Friday."

"I can feel it."

"You can't possibly feel it."

"Yes, I can."

"Shut up" I say as we pass the Kum and Go with a maroon Buick parked at the pumps.

* * *

 _Character ages - so this is how I figured it. Walt and Henry have been best friends since they were in the third grade which puts them at 8 years old. Henry tells Walt that they have been best friends for 37 years which makes Walt 45 in that scene in Season 1. In this fic it's about 7-8 years after that which puts Walt around 53 and I'm guessing Vic to be 38. It's my math and I'm sticking to it since we don't know for sure :)_


	10. Chapter 10

Walt passes the station and double backs without a word said between us. It's that unspoken language between partners. On the back pass I note the driver behind the wheel and my neck swivels trying to spot the possibility of a passenger.

"Call it in."

"On it."

I radio Ruby our location and the license plate. Keystone State license plates. It's them. The numbers match.

Walt stops a car length behind them so he can maneuver around the pumps if he has to; he slams the Bronco in park, and my foot holds my door open while I check our surroundings.

We approach the Buick and I hear it before my brain registers the subtle chime of the bell ringing as the advertisement laden glass opens and everything starts to shut down when I feel the heat in my side and the air being sucked out of my lungs. I notice his creamy soft brown suede lace ups with oiled dark brown laces as I fall to the grease stained cement. My Glock is pointed up and I'm firing with one hand, trying to suck in air, but I can't quite seem to catch my breath.

Run.

Run.

Run is all I hear in my brain.

Close the distance to the threat. Where did I learn that? I'm fucking questioning my tactics. I shouldn't be doing that.

I'm yelling.

I know it's me.

I can hear it but it doesn't make sense.

He's down in the doorway but he doesn't look right.

Drop it. Drop the fucking gun. I sound muddled and underwater and my legs feel heavy and its Burt, the clerk, holding his double barreled saw-off Remington 870 and the smoke is sensuously trailing up from the barrel.

Burt shot the suede shoes in the back of the head. He's dead.

My gun leads my path. I have to clear the store I think. Are there more targets? Are there more threats?

"Burt, are there any more gun packing motherfuckers in here?"

He shakes his head, unfazed by what he did, but maybe it's shock. I don't know.

The chimes. The chimes keep ringing. What the fuck is with the chimes.

I'm standing in the tunnel of death. I can't stop here in the doorway. I can't stay here.

"Fuck. Walt." I try to breathe but I can hear my breath. This is all wrong.

I see him and he looks ten feet tall. Paul Bunyan. He's coming around the Bronco, the door slamming; one side of his shirt tail is pulled out, his jacket in disarray.

His face is colorless and he's moving too slow. Get the fuck over here I yell but there's nothing coming out. I can't hear my voice.

His hands reach out and they are huge. Lumberjack . Why am I thinking…what the fuck…I can't seem to catch my…Walt?

* * *

 _ **Sorry for such a short chapter but we need to celebrate the premiere date of Season 4, September 10th, on Netflix. So make your plans. Enjoy the short chapter. Don't be pissed at me and remember to leave feedback.**_

 _ **Thanks to all the loyal readers and I hope you are stoked like I am that our favorite Sheriff and Deputy will be back soon! #LongLiveLongmire**_


	11. Chapter 11

I can get up. Get the fuck off of me.

Vic.

Vic.

I hear his voice all grumbly and hard.

What?

He doesn't answer. Whose touching me? Get the fuck off of me.

Why are these motherfuckers making me yell?

I know what's happening. I know what I did. I did the right thing. That's what I think just before the suspended distinctive bounce and the stretcher arms lock. I'm off of the ground, strapped in, hands on my, what the hell, cut uniform, pain in my side.

My side's not hot. I'm ok I say. Get me off of here I tell him.

His blonde hair falls on his forehead like he's been surfing all day. The waves crashing on his bare chest. God, he's handsome, I think. How old are you? He doesn't answer.

You're going to be ok he says to me and his hazel eyes are seductive but reassuring.

The door slams, then the other one, the two taps on the back. I know what's going on. I know where I am. Get me out of here. I'm ok. Why won't they believe me?

Where's my husband?

I look up and it's just Hans Solo looking at me all calm and confident. Damn, he's good looking. This is wrong. What the fuck is going on? Walt?

You were shot, he says like I can comprehend and I go along with it because I think it will make him feel better.

You're going to be ok. He says like he really means it and he smiles and his lips are full.

I started an I.V., it's morphine, so you may feel a little loopy he sings but I don't think what I feel is loopy it's something entirely different.

Where's my husband. I start to cry and I'm mad I'm crying.

Oh God, please don't tell me …oh…please..I beg him…oh no…no wait I saw him I say. Take a breath I tell myself. No, I saw him. It was him.

Hans won't answer me. I close my eyes and take a deep breath but it's hard to breathe and I hear Christmas carols.

The fact is most police officers that are shot have survivable wounds and those that die may in fact lose the will to survive. The grainy VHS tape plays in my head over and over. My tac-officer yelling in my ear. The will to live.

The fact is I'm too fucking mad to die. That motherfucker shot me.

The smell is what wakes me, the lights burn my eyes, _Hi_ Victoria she says.

You're doing great she sounds like a bird. She's happy. I want to be happy.

My brain is telling my eyes to stay open but they aren't but I see him. He's here. Hi Paul, I say but he doesn't hear me at least I don't think he does.

The roar, that's what wakes me this time as my eyes try to adjust to the blacked out room, the flickering incongruent lights from the overhead television. Keith Jackson. I know him.

"Hi, baby." He says. I love him.

"Baby, oh Walt." The drops hit my pillow before I can stop them.

His hand is on my stomach and he's stroking my hair back from my forehead. He's beautiful I think, much prettier than Han Solo, another drop hits the pillow.

"Vic", his voice is all deep like it is when he wakes up.

"We're going to be fine he says." His eyes are soft, and full, and I think he's going to cry but he smiles.

"Lay next to me." I say but maybe the morphine says it I don't know but somebody did.

"There's not enough room." He answers me so I said it. Whoops. I laugh out loud. Shhhh we're in a hospital.

"What happened?"

"Go back to sleep." He whispers and he kisses my cheek. He's an angel I think. He's not real.

"I think we will get the doctor." The Standing Bear says and I feel him squeeze my foot and he smiles and it's bright.

I smile back and Cady blows me a kiss. An actual kiss. I love her. I need to tell her I promise myself.

My throat is a little scratchy and I'm thirsty and Walt is leaning against my bed. His shirt unsnapped like he's restless in his clothes, his hair mussed, and his beard grown in.

"Hi, sweetheart." He says and he kisses my cheek near my nose, his lips are so soft and so warm.

"Hi." I say and I barely make a sound.

He straightens his long body and brings the paper funnel cup wrapped in hard orange plastic over my bed. He moves the straw with delicacy over my lips and I take a sip. Tastes good.

"Walt. I'm sorry."

He stops me, his lips on mine, "Nothing to be sorry about."

"Are you ok?"

He nods his head.

"But I."

"But nothing. He's dead."

The tears start but I'm not crying. They are falling on their own. They need to escape my body.

"That car we stopped."

I nod like I can keep up.

"It was wanted out of Pittsburgh. Two homicide suspects. They had nothing to do with John Muldrew."

My forehead crinkles. I can feel it.

Another tear lands on the pillow. I can hear it.

His big hand comes up and wipes the side of my face, by my ear, and I hear his skin on mine.

His eyes are so persuasive. I will say yes. Just ask me.

"There's nothing to cry about, Vic. We're all ok."

On instinct my hand moves to my side, there's a bandage there, he puts his hand on mine and he holds it there. The heat coming from him warms me.

"Your vest stopped the bullet but it caught the space where the Velcro aligns. It went through and through in the fatty tissue. That pressure you felt was from the second bullet. Turns out, that Second Chance vest, you have has an insulated soft trauma plate in the back and the front. The blunt trauma from the impact, he shot you with a .45 by the way, basically stopped your heart."

I can feel my breath catch.

His hand tightens around mine.

"Anyway, your lungs started to shut down and you couldn't really breathe."

His eyes begin to water but he smiles at me and his voice is sweet like warm honey.

"Vic. You're going to be ok. You never quit."

"He's dead, right?"

He nods his head. I close my eyes.

"Both of them." He says with conviction. I look at him. I need to tell him I love him more often.

"What about shithead?"

"He's dead too."

I think I'm hallucinating but he moves my hair back with his thumb.

"He mailed me a postcard two days ago from the hotel. He wrote where I could find his body, and Ferg went out and found him.. Had a note pinned to his jacket. Said he ruined his life and money wasn't going to fix it. Wanted Linda to have it all."

"Shithead." I say. He smirks. We're so inappropriate.

I close my eyes because I'm afraid to ask.

He leans in close and I can feel his furry whiskers press against my face as he kisses the soft little gristle on the edge of my ear and whispers.

"Doc says we need to start thinking of names."

* * *

 _ **At the TCA interviews yesterday the Executive Producers said the theme of Season 4 was second chances. That very much was the thread of Facts. A nice coincidence. I hope you enjoyed this fic. Thank you for sticking with it and for all the reviews.**_

 _ **Also, thank you to the readers that suggested we even have a third part of the trilogy. You know who you are!**_

 _ ***Second Chance Body Armour is a real company.**_

 _ ****I wrote Hans on purpose because she is out of her ever loving mind!**_


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